Emile
by Centroides
Summary: A loose canon wrecks havoc on the wrong side.
1. Chapter 1

**Emile**

**Chapter 1**

Emile spat in the dirt. Useless. All of them. Useless. What was the point of all this organizing. What they needed was some action. Get out there and do something. Kill some Germans or blow their camps. Action not talk. He spat again then looked over to the two German soldiers who stood talking by the road. He'd show them how it was supposed to be.

Emile had been a soldier in the Great War. He knew how to fight. When he had tried to enlist this time he was told he was too old. Too Old to fight for his country! How dare they even suggest such a thing. He had yelled at the young upstart who had told him that. Only his friend who had tried to enlist as well had held him back from hitting the snot-nosed kid. Then he heard that some men from town had decided to form a Resistance Cell. They would fight locally doing what ever they could to wreck havoc. That he could do. He could lead them. He was a leader and a fighter. They had had the audacity to laugh at his offer. Again too old. He knew the truth; they wanted the glory for themselves. They wanted to be the heroes. They thought they didn't need him but they were wrong. **He **didn't need them. He would show them how it was done.

Below him through the pines he could see where the road curved around to the bridge. There were two soldiers standing lazily in front of a barrier. Their uniforms, the hated grey, were ill fitting but somehow befitting the men who wore them. One stood smoking a cigarette and the other slouched against the bridge abutment cradling his weapon. The smoker consulted his watch and said something to his companion which Emile could not hear. The reply also went unheard. Well that would be their last, thought the angry French man. He scanned the hillside to see his best route.

His neighbour had been a grenadier during the Great War and had kept three of his weapons. Emile had waited until he was out of the house then had gone in and taken them. They were no use to him. He had lost his right arm to a blast just days before the armistice. Emile would throw them for him.

Picking his way carefully his descended the slope. He continued to watch the soldiers, stopping once when the dark one looked his way. He waited then proceeded when he looked away. Finally he was as close as he though he would get. He threw the grenade. It did not go as close as he hoped but it was still a blow for France. He ducked to avoid the blast but smiled into the dirt as it went off. It was a satisfying sound. He even felt the vibration as the ground shook. He waited a moment then raised his head over the log he had hidden behind to survey the results of his handiwork. One soldier lay sprawled on the road apparently lifeless, the other smaller man was hauling himself out of the ditch. Emile watched as he ran to his companion. Emile turned to retrace his steps. He had left his rifle up on top of the hill, fearing it would get tangled in the under brush as he descended the hill. He would get it then kill the other soldier. The satisfied smile on his face froze as he reached for his gun. A sharp pain at his neck stopped him as an arm reached around and took the gun. He was prodded down the hill with his own weapon. Not wanting to die yet he complied.

Once on the road he saw to his disappointment the downed soldier was sitting up though he looked the worse for wear. To his horror the man was being attended by a civilian. A traitor! A collaborator! Another civilian was crossing the bridge. He, a tall lean blond, carried a rifle as well.

The one behind Emile spoke but though he didn't understand German, he knew what was said wasn't in that language. The tall dark civilian tending the downed soldier turned to look his way. He must be the one in charge.

Emile snarled at him and swore in French, "Collaborator! May you rot in Hell!"

"Monsieur." The tall one rose and approached. "We are not collaborators" he said in French. "We were trying to fool the Germans to to get them to stop so we could kill them."

Emile looked at them again. Could they be telling the truth? He watched as the civilian that had come across the bridge looked up from where he was talking to the downed man. He was fair haired and certainly looked German. The tall one spoke like a native, a well cultured one at that. Emile had no use for the rich city people. They had always looked down on his kind. No he didn't like this bunch. He wasn't going to believe them either. He would watch and bide his time.

Again the man behind him spoke. The sound was soft and smooth. Definitely not German. Who were these people? One was city rich playing peasant from the way he was dressed. But the others?

The smaller soldier called to his co-conspirator. The accent was unmistakable. He was English. Were the others as well? With a frown he asked "Anglish?" Was it possible?

"Parle vous Anglais?" asked the tall blonde. Emile shook his head.

Emile hear a question from behind him, but not what was asked . The answer from the tall civilian, other than it had to do with "l'explosion" and "le Casino" did not sound encouraging.

Emile ducked as the tall man suddenly yelled and struck out at his head. It was then he realized the blow was to deflect the rifle butt aimed at his head. Still cringing from the threatened blow he turned to his assailant. Emile didn't know what was going on but he feared for his life when he saw the look of pure rage on the man's face. The angry man shook off the tall man's hand from the rifle butt then stepped back and aimed the weapon at Emile's chest. He growled something at him then stood watching him, his anger still evident.

From the corner of his eye he saw the English/German? soldier come over to where they stood. He was dirty and had small cuts on his face. He began talking to the tall aristocrat. From the expressions on their faces and the tones of voice, his actions had disrupted their plans. Emile was not sure if this was good or bad. Did he believe they were collaborators or Resistance fighters? The smaller man definitely sounded English. There was no way the Germans would let an Englishman enlist. But then if he was English, then why was he not in the Allied Army? Emile tried to puzzle it out but was getting nowhere.

The tall one gestured to his wrist and they suddenly sprang into action. The tall blonde ran back across the bridge disappearing up the road. The tall dark one motioned Emile to follow as the angry one who had captured him traded clothes with the wounded soldier.

Once they were away from the bridge Emile tried to find out what was going on. "So, my friend, who are you.?"

"That is not important. What we have to do is. Can you be trusted?"

Somewhat indignant he replied, "Me? I am a loyal Frenchman. They say I am too old but I can still fight." Then it dawned on him what he had done. "How is your friend? If I had known, I never would have done that. Please believe me."

Actor waited until they were in position to watch the road. Making sure the Frenchman was in front he told him, "We wait."

"Let me help. Please, to make up for hurting your friend." He pleaded. Then seeing as that was not working, he took a different tact, becoming defensive. "He was dressed as a German. You do that and you ask to be shot by a loyal Frenchman. I did what I thought was right. You cannot hold that against me."

"Monsieur, You must be quiet." The voice was low but the warning was clear.

Almost as a reflex he was about to refuse. He had hated being told what to do or not do for that matter. It flashed through his mind to offer his silence in exchange for information but the tall one seemed to read his mind, giving him a look and swinging the barrel of his pistol a little closer to his direction. The threat was received. Emile closed his mouth and watched the road. From their vantage point they could see up the road as well as back to the bridge. They were obviously lookouts. But for who or what? He waited.


	2. Chapter 2

**Emile**

**Chapter 2**

Then in the distance he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. The tall one turned towards the bridge and putting his fingers to his lips let out a low whistle. Emile could barely see the two at the bridge come to attention. The two men then made their way to a spot closer to the bridge as the German vehicle slowed at the bogus check point. It was an open staff car with only three occupants.

Emile waited for the gunfire, a pleased smile on his face. The smile turned to shock and outrage when the two soldiers pulled the barrier out of the way and waved them through. He rounded on the tall French man with him but was greeted by the barrel of the pistol he was holding. His other hand held a finger to his lips motioning silence. There was a deadly smile on his lips.

Emile was confused. Though he saw the threat he could not contain himself. "Why?" he blurted out in a strangled whisper. "Why didn't you kill them? They're animals. They all deserve to die. If you are too scared then let…" He stopped when the gun was suddenly inches from his face.

"Because they were the wrong ones." The voice was low and deadly cold.

"But who…?"

"If you do not stop talking I will be forced to kill you."

Emile clamped his lips together to stop any further questions and to show he understood and would comply. There was something going on. Something big. They were there not to just kill a few passing Germans but to do something bigger. But what?

Then it dawned on him. If he played his cards right, he could be in on it. He could be instrumental in bringing down the invaders. He could help free his country. He could not help the smile that played around his lips. He would watch and listen.

It seemed to be hours but was probably less when he thought he heard the low whistle. The tall man rose and nudging him began to hurry towards the bridge. The two soldiers had moved the barricade to the other side of the bridge.

The vehicles came into view. There were two motorcycles and a closed sedan with flags flying on the front fenders, a Generals car. The cycles pulled to a stop in front of the two soldiers who had remained standing, arms at the ready, in front of the barrier. Then as if at a signal they opened fire killing the riders. The tall blonde rushed from the side firing as he ran taking out the driver. He then stood with weapon trained on the passenger as the tall one ran to the door. He opened it and motioned for the occupant to get out.

A few words from the tall one earned him a haughty stare until the tall blonde walked around the vehicle and added his machine gun to the arsenal pointed at the General's chest. Emile smiled at the enemy's look of displeasure as he began removing his jacket. Emile began to relax as buttons began to be undone. Suddenly the General lunged for his hated opponent but collapsed at the tall ones feet; a knife protruding from his back. Emile searched for the source then watched as the tall blonde reached down and pulled it free. He handed it to the angry man who bent down and wiped it on the dead riders pants. As he stood closing the blade he locked eyes with Emile. There was nothing there, no anger or pleasure. Emile knew the man was good. His aim was deadly but he took no pleasure from the killing. None of them seemed pleased. It was a job. A means to get what they wanted. What did they want? What was their goal? And who were they? More questions and no answers.

The blonde soldier went over to the bridge, slide down the embankment then returned a moment later with the wounded former soldier who was now dressed as a civilian. The five men stood around the General's body and discussed something. From the way they were looking at him he knew his fate was being discussed. The injured one was, from his tone and the look on his face, demanding his death. He thought about running while they were busy but one look at the one with the knife told him he would not get far. The black eyes were watching him dispassionately. There would be no escape. He waited. Finally the tall blonde cut off the discussion and the tall one moved over to him.

"You say you are a loyal Frenchman."

Emile nodded. "Oui. All I want to do is fight for France. Take me with you. I can help you. I will do what ever you say. Please."

After asking his name the tall one continued. "Emile, we could take you with us but there is something more important we need you to do. We rely on local eyes and ears to let us know what is going on. We need to know what the Germans are doing. We need to know about troop movements, headquarters, hostage taking and so on. We have no one in this area to help us. You would be perfect for the job, … if you are loyal and really mean what you say about fighting to free France."

"Oh yes. I am loyal. But I want to fight, to kill the hated Germans. I don't want to just sit and watch. That won't get rid of the evil that has descended over our homes and land."

Actor knew about the passion of some French men but needed to cut it short. They were on a tight schedule. "Emile, Please. I know you want to fight but just think of it this way. If you fight just to kill then ten Frenchmen die for each German. But if you wait and watch to see where his weakness is then strike there, then ten Germans die for each Frenchman. Is that not better?"

"Ah, oui," he answered with a sigh and a smile. He turned serious and asked, "But how will I get the information to you? I don't even know your name."

"It is better you do not. When we have completed our mission we will arrange to have a radio sent to you. You will be told then how to deliver your information."

"Bon. I will do as you have asked. I will wait and watch. When will you return?"

"It is best you do not ask." Actor smiled a sad smile.

"Oui. You are right. I don't know who you are or what you are doing. But thank you." At the tall man's puzzled look he added, "for not laughing at my desire to fight."

"I would never laugh at a man's desire to free his country from evil. You just need to find the best way for you to do that. We will give you that way and you will be in on the fight to free France." He held out his hand and Emile grasped it. As they shook hands the tall one said, "Thank you, Emile. Now you must return to your home to do your part. We are counting on you, Emile. Good luck."

"Good luck to you and your friends too. Good bye."

Emile turned and began the trek home. He still had question but now he had a focus. He had a job, a purpose. He was going to be fighting for France after all. He was going to be instrumental in their freedom. Life was worth living again. He smiled and felt better than he had in years.


End file.
